


We pull apart the darkness while we can

by Saetha



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Battle of Dale, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Cuddles, Fix-It, Fluff, Fíli's coronation, Loss of Limbs, Permanent Injury, Thorin's coronation, background Fili/Ori - Freeform, background Kiliel, some porn (with plot!), this stuff basically covers everything from BOFA to the Battle of Dale yo, trans!Fili
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:45:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4684121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone survives the Battle of Five Armies. Though not quite without cost, they slowly find their way back into normal life in the mountain and to each other, especially Dwalin and Thorin. Erebor prospers once again under the rightful king's rule. Decades go past whilst some things change and others stay the same - until it is time to defend the mountain from evil one last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S FINALLY DONE. I started this almost a year ago, long before BOFA came out and had intended it to be only a quick drabble - somehow it went from there to being a 16k fic though, whoops. I hope you will all very much enjoy this just as much as I enjoyed writing it! With her permission, I borrowed khazadqueen's wonderful Bala, Dis' wife who I think is just a beautiful character.
> 
> Also, I actually like to headcanon Fíli as both trans* and asexual - I figure he would have sex in order to have an heir and maybe even enjoy it, but he isn't sexually attracted to anyone and a lot more interested in other things.

_"Like fireworks_

_We pull apart the dark_

_Compete against the stars_

_With all of our hearts_

_Till our temporary brilliance turns to ash"_

_([Sleeping at last - In the Embers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=owff0qL74Rw))_

 

"I’ll always be by your side when you wake up.”

The words had been stuck in Dwalin’s head for over one and a half centuries, ever since Thorin had first muttered them to him. Dwalin had been less than twenty then and fallen ill, almost killed by the same fever that had taken the Queen only a few days before and broken her husband Thrór’s heart. He would never forget the nightmares that had visited him during his fever-addled state, dreams where both his family and Thorin were all dead and gone, leaving him alone to grow old in a world without them.

When he woke up, however, they had all been there, clustered around his bed, their faces drawn with worry that slowly turned into relief when they saw that his fever was truly gone. Dwalin had never truly understood the danger he had been in until much later – but dwarrows rarely became ill and when they did, survival was often down to sheer luck. He had whispered the fears that his dreams had planted in his soul to Thorin later when they were alone and without hesitation his friend had promised him to always be by his side should he wake up from injury or illness – a promise he had never broken in the almost two hundred years that followed.

The one who had uttered those words was in his arms now, lying in a pool of his own blood that was still seeping from the destroyed right side of his body. Azog the Defiler, whose mace had inflicted those wounds on him, was already dead, his white body crumpled on the ground a few feet away. He had died from their united wrath, the blades of Orcrist and Dwalin’s battle axe carving deep wounds into his flesh too severe for even the orc to survive. They had been propelled by nothing but anger, forcing their shattered bodies to endure far beyond the normal before reality caught up with them and they tumbled to the ground.

Dwalin gathered his One closer in his arms, listened to Thorin’s weakening breath, feeling his own life run out of him through the terrible wound on his leg. The grip of Thorin’s hand was weak but his fingers were searching for Dwalin’s nonetheless, curling around them and squeezing ever so softly.

“I’m so tired.” Thorin whispered quietly, the blue of his remaining eye drowsy with pain and exhaustion and slowly falling shut.

“Then sleep, âzyungâl. I’m here. I’m with you.”

The faint hint of a smile curled around Thorin’s lips when Dwalin pressed a soft kiss into his hair, both of them oblivious to the remnants of the battle raging on around them and the shouts of Balin, Fíli, Kíli and the rest of the Company who were fighting to keep their fallen king and kinsman safe. The last thing Dwalin saw was the glint of silver in Thorin’s hair before a roar like that of a big bear shook the ground and he knew no more.

*

When Thorin woke up it was to warmth on his face and the sound of wood crackling in a fire. He thought he might have finally made his journey to the Halls of their Maker until pain flooded his mind as soon as awareness of his body returned, as if his entire right side were covered in flames. For a moment it was all he could do to try and subdue it, forcing himself to breathe in and out, erecting the walls in his mind between himself and the pain that the long years of fighting had taught him to build.

The memories of the battle slowly trickled back into his thoughts as he was doing so; a moment of slowness due to exhaustion in which Azog’s weapon had brushed one side of his face, taking his right eye with it, leaving him stumbling and vulnerable for a moment; Dwalin’s roar as he stepped between him and the white orc, blocking the fatal strike. The moment when he had heaved himself upright again, fighting side by side with Dwalin against their ancient foe and his orcs, keeping them from tearing Fíli and Kíli apart who were engrossed in their own battles not far away. How they had finally managed to slay Azog the Defiler, paying for it with an almost severed leg, a crushed shoulder and a lost eye, he couldn’t even remember.

Dwalin…the image of him collapsing against Thorin when his leg had no longer supported his weight was what finally convinced him to open his eye. Nothing, not even the weight of his pain, could compare to the urgency of having to find him and knowing that not only he, but also the others of his company were safe.

He was in a tent, almost bursting with warmth from the fire in the small portable oven against one of its walls. Thorin, however, had no eye for armour and weapons on the ground, Orcrist amongst them, or the darkness outside; all he could see was the bulky shape at the other side of the tent. Although almost hidden under a mountain of furs, he would have recognized his One everywhere.

“Dwalin.” He almost didn’t recognise the sound of his own voice, brittle and cracked as if he had spent too much time screaming. There was no reaction to the broken word and Thorin felt his insides freeze. Mahal, no-

He was halfway out of the comfortable cot they had put him on, agony flaring up in such strength that he almost lost consciousness again when the flap of the tent was pushed aside, bringing a gush of cold wind with it.

“Thorin? Thorin, what are you-“ There were hands on him, soft fingers carefully pushing him back onto the furs and helping to steady him. Thorin closed his eye for a moment, concentrated on breathing normally, before he opened it again just to look straight into the face of his most trusted advisor and oldest friend.

“Balin.” he croaked. “I need to-“

“You need to rest, Thorin.” Balin’s voice was soft, but the firmness behind it could have sharpened steel. His eyes flickered over to Dwalin before they turned back to him. “Dwalin is still unconscious, but out of immediate danger at the moment.”

Thorin allowed himself a small measure of relief before other images rushed into his mind, of two mops of hair, blond and brown, swirling in the periphery of his sight as they tried to keep the attackers at bay.

“Fíli and Kíli, are they-“

“They are sleeping right now, but they will be fine.” Balin’s fingers were still on his chest, keeping him from moving again. He sensed his next question before Thorin could pose it. “And so will be the rest of the company, including Bilbo. Nothing that time won’t mend.”

Thorin sent a small prayer of gratitude into their Maker’s direction. His nephews were safe. If anything had happened to them...a lost eye would have been the least of his worries then. Bilbo and the others, too. Their brave little hobbit and his loyal company, all safe and sound. And Dwalin...he turned his head again and now that he concentrated he could see a faint movement beneath the furs where Dwalin’s chest was slowly rising and falling. He longed to feel his warmth next to him, to be as close as possible, as if his proximity would somehow ensure that his One stayed alive.

“I need to get to Dwalin. I need to be by his side.” Thorin tried to put some measure of command back into his voice, but he could have spoken to a wall for all the good it did him. He tried to sit up again, struggling weakly against Balin’s grip. “I promised.”

Balin’s eyes softened slightly at his last sentence, but he made no move to let Thorin do what he wanted. Instead he held a cup of tea at Thorin’s parched lips, allowing him to drink a few sips before taking it away again.

“You’re still running a slight fever and your wounds will reopen if you move too much.” His eyes lingered on the bandages around the right half of Thorin’s face and his shoulder for a moment before he continued to speak. “I’ll call Óin and tell him you’re awake. Don’t move until we’re back.”

The last words were said in the same tone he had used countless times during their childhood, whenever he had to restrain his brother and the young prince from committing further stupidities. The only reason that kept Thorin from moving anyway was the thought they would likely tie him down if he dared to injure himself further, king or no.

When Óin returned at Balin’s side a few minutes later he showed satisfaction that Thorin was awake and relatively clear-minded, although his brows furrowed when he saw the spots of fresh blood on Thorin’s bandaged brow. Thorin hadn’t even noticed, the aches and pains of his body all long bled into one. As Óin checked on his wounds and he tried not to scream he longed for Dwalin’s fingers on his skin, Dwalin, whose hold had always been so strong and whose touch had been the only thing truly able to distract him from pain.

After his wounds were redressed and some of the stitches on his shoulder and across his face mended again, Óin forced him to down more medicine against the remnants of the infection still ravaging inside him. It was only when he offered him another draught against the pain and to help him sleep again that Thorin declined.

“I need to be there when he wakes up.” he rasped and there was no doubt as to who he meant.

Óin sighed, exchanging a glance with Balin that reminded Thorin far too much of his and Dwalin’s parents when they had been but young dwarflings cooking up mischief in the Halls of Erebor together with Dís and Frerin. If he had felt any less exhausted and like passing out every other second he might have been much angrier.

“It is unlikely that Dwalin will wake up before tomorrow. The infection is all but gone since we took the leg, but his body will need time to deal with all his wounds.” The news that Dwalin’s leg was gone was less surprising than it should be – Thorin remembered the horrible wound Dwalin had received during their fight and was sure that Óin had done what was necessary. Still, the news pained him, even if only for the additional agony and slower healing it would mean for his One for the future.

Thorin could feel the exhaustion creeping up on him and hoped that the old doctor was right and Dwalin wouldn’t wake up before the next morning. His eye remained trained on his One’s still form until he fell back asleep again.

*

The first thing he saw when he woke up a second time were two faces hovering above him, caught somewhere between concern and relief.

“Fíli. Kíli.” he murmured quietly, weakly lifting his left left arm to ruffle their unkempt hair. His nephews seemed to have aged several decades since he had last seen them, new lines of pain apparent in their faces and in the way they moved, but their smiles were as honest and bright as ever and Thorin found himself thanking the Maker once again for keeping them alive. Their chatter distracted him from his own wounds and the lingering worry about Dwalin who was still unconscious, his position unchanged since the previous night, although Thorin hoped his sight hadn’t been betraying him when he thought that his breathing seemed to come a little lighter than before.

Convincing Fíli and Kíli to help him was easier than doing the same with Balin and Óin although he suspected that the latter two might have given the young princes their blessing should he request to move, knowing full well that Thorin would never give in with his demand. Somehow someone had conjured up a large chair next to Dwalin’s cot and Thorin almost collapsed in it after the few steps from his own bed. The movement had left him out of breath more than he thought it would and he was annoyed by his own weakness, his wounds sending lances of fire through his body and mind. Nothing, however, mattered when he carefully pushed back a few stray hairs that had become plastered to Dwalin’s forehead and intertwined the fingers of his left hand with his.

Fíli and Kíli seemed reluctant to go despite their own exhaustion and the occasional wince or hiss when they thought Thorin couldn’t see it. It was only on Óin’s behest that they finally left. The old healer was shaking his head when he saw Thorin in his position at Dwalin’s side, but he only insisted on forcing more tea down his throat, promising to let him try some food later after changing his bandages and looking at his wounds again.

After he had withdrawn Thorin spent the following moments simply watching Dwalin’s face, mentally smoothing out all the lines of hardship in it and drowning in memories of the time they had spent together.

Dwalin squeezed his hand before he opened his eyes and Thorin was unable to hold back the smile tugging at his lips at the sensation. Dwalin’s gaze was still clouded with pain, but some of its clear grey returned when he looked at Thorin.

“You’re here.” he whispered, his voice raspy and brittle. Thorin smiled again and leaned forward to kiss his forehead, ignoring the protest from his wounds at the movement.

“Of course.” he replied softly. “I promised you. Remember?”

Dwalin’s face mirrored his own smile and with an effort that must have cost him most of his strength he brought up his other hand to caress Thorin’s cheek. Thorin leaned into the touch, closing his eye at the softness of Dwalin’s skin on his. Dwalin’s fingers wandered, trailing softly down to his mouth and over lips, then up the bridge of his nose again an over the bandages hiding the right side of Thorin’s face.

A spark of sadness flared up in the grey of his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” It was clear that he didn’t only mean the loss of the eye.

Thorin let go of Dwalin’s hand to catch the one on his face, squeezing his fingers as he did so.

“No.” He quietly cursed the weakness that was still lingering in the roughness of his voice, the notes of pain lacing the edges of it. “You have nothing to apologise for, Dwalin. If there’s anyone who should be sorry, it’s me. I gave in to the disease of my forefathers, let the dragon sickness take me and destroyed almost everything I ever held dear. I threatened to kill you. I-“

“Sssshhhh.” Dwalin brought up his other hand, wrapping it around Thorin’s neck and carefully bringing their foreheads together. “No more. We’re here, we’re alive and that’s all that counts.”

They stayed in the same position for a few moments until Thorin had to move again to keep the pain from becoming too strong. When Óin entered the tent not long after, he halted in his steps at the sight, unable to banish the smile creeping on his face. Thorin was lying on his healthy side, nestled into Dwalin on a cot that should have been much too small to hold both of them but yet somehow did. Dwalin’s one hand was tangled in Thorin’s hair, both their mouths slightly open and the sound of soft snoring filling the tent.


	2. The Coronation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The coronation! This bit is long but I didn't really want to break it up into shorter bits haha. I have a multitude of headcanons for dwarven cultures & co as you can see and I hope I'm not boring everyone with all those descriptions...also, there is a little porn as reward for you at the end. It even has some significance for the plots this time, go me!

The crown was made of three strands of metal, silver, gold and mithril interweaving to form the shape of ravens. A new one had been made after Thorin had refused to wear the old crown. Dwalin watched as Thorin held it, noting with a small sting in his heart that his One took care not to touch the gold. It had only been two days since the dragon sickness had flared up inside him again.

Dwalin had pulled him back when he had recognised the signs, had taken him all the way to their room and helped him find a way out of it with words and touches. Thorin had not emerged from his room that day but remained in the safe confines of his own four walls, Dwalin letting the others know that old wounds were troubling him again. Thorin had smiled weakly and ashamed at his words and told him that he shouldn’t be lying on his account. Dwalin had just glared in his direction and told him to shut up.

“I wasn’t lying.” he had told him then, more softly. “There isn’t much difference between the scars on your body and those in your mind. Sometimes they flare up and the darkness returns and you will need help fighting. And just like Óin I will be there when you need me.”

Thorin had chosen to believe his One even though the deep-seated fear in his mind told him otherwise. Sometimes he still woke at night with the echo of his own words in his head –‘Get out before I kill you.’ and the nightmarish visions his mind added, of Dwalin pierced at the tip of his own sword, chest bleeding and eyes lifeless and accusing. In those moments he swore to himself he would never again let the madness take him even though he knew that this particular sickness was beyond his control. He could still feel it tainting their interactions at times and it saddened him more than anything else - often enough he missed the quick banter that had once come so easily to them although it was slowly returning.

He noticed Dwalin’s gaze resting on him now as he was turning the crown in his hands. There was still a small voice inside his mind telling him that by rights, he shouldn’t be king, that he should have died on the battle field and Fíli should be standing on the dais instead of him today.

“Stop thinking so loudly.” Dwalin covered the distance between them with a few quick steps. “You’ll be fine.”

Thorin gave him a weak smile, still unable to put the crown upon his head. Dwalin sighed and softly pulled him closer, bringing their foreheads together.

"We've survived the quest to the mountain, a meeting with a bloody dragon and a battle between five different armies. I don't think being crowned king of your folk will bring you down if those haven't."

"Our survival was more down to luck and the presence of a hobbit than anything else though." Thorin remarked dryly.

Dwalin gave a theatrical sigh.

"Fine, if you insist. That still doesn't change the fact that both of us did survive, for whatever reason. It's time you take your birth right and make it yours, Thorin. Nobody deserves to wear this crown as much as you do and no-" he stifled Thorin's opposition as soon as he saw him opening his mouth "the dragon sickness does not count. It doesn't define you, it is only a part of you, just as the rightful, noble and good king inside you is who has led his folk for so long already."

Thorin didn't know what to reply, just as he never knew what to say in those moments when Dwalin said things that couldn't possibly be true. So he just leaned in to press a quick kiss on Dwalin's temple before moving away again and straightening his shoulders. He handed the crown to Dwalin who would give it to his brother.

Traditionally, the coronation consisted of two different ceremonies. Tomorrow the official ceremony for all the different peoples would take place and their Halls would be brimming with visitors, envoys from Dale, Laketown and other dwarf kingdoms such as the Iron Hills. Even King Thranduil had announced his presence and was expected to arrive early the next morning.

The other, more important ceremony, however, would take place tonight. Only dwarrows would be present for this one for it was here that the true oaths would be spoken, from the king to his people and their Maker, from the people to their king, a binding to both the populace and the mountain itself. Thorin would wear neither jewels nor finery for this occasion to symbolise that in front of their Maker they were all the same. Dwalin was unadorned as well save for some beads in his hair and the clasps on his ears, the counterparts of which rested on Thorin's. The glint of pride and warmth in his eyes, however, stayed the same and Thorin knew it would give him strength throughout the long night that lay ahead.

After the ceremony Thorin would remain alone in the cavern deep inside the mountain where it was being held, keeping vigil throughout the rest of the night to ponder on the promises that had been given. Dwalin would be standing watch outside to ensure that his king received the solace that was needed as required by ancient protocol.

"It's time." Dwalin said quietly and gave Thorin's uninjured shoulder a firm squeeze. Thorin threw a quick smile at him before he took a deep breath and finally stepped outside their quarters.

The mountain was silent and deserted as they walked through its halls, all of its inhabitants already deep inside its bowels in the holy chambers where the ceremony would be held. Those few that they came across were hurrying to the chambers and silent nods were passed between them in greeting. It was tradition that nobody spoke in the open hallways of the mountain in the hour before the coronation until the priest broke the silence with the first words.

As soon as they arrived Dwalin took his place next to his brother. There was a small elevation in the middle of the cavern that Thorin ascended before kneeling down in front of the priest. It merely served to make him visible to everyone and not heighten his status; for his feet were as bare as theirs and his clothing lacked any embellishments a king might have.

The blessings spoken in Khuzdul were as old as their folk itself. Dwalin knew that Thorin had heard them before in the short ceremony where he had been crowned as king in Ered Luin, but it had always held less significance than in the mountain, their home, itself. Thorin had never felt a true king before and in a sense he still didn't, no matter how the others had seen him as a leader for decades already. Dwalin wondered whether Thorin would ever think he fully deserved the throne that was his now; hopefully this night of contemplation would help him accept it.

He watched as the priest posed the most important of questions to Thorin, the words that would prompt the ancestral oath of the King Under the Mountain.

"Do you, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, swear to serve your people and the mountain at all times by the grace of the Maker?"

Thorin pressed his hand on his chest, closing his eye for a moment before he lifted his head and said the proper reply, loud enough that his voice was carried to every end of the vast cavern.

"I swear." The words following his confirmation contained the rest of the oath - sung slowly in Khuzdul, Thorin's voice filled the cavern until Dwalin felt shivers run down his back. It was an ancient song, speaking of a king's duty to his people to mete out justice when necessary, to provide with what was needed, to protect and nurture so that they might prosper with time.

The ritual was repeated once Thorin had finished his part of the oath - this time it was the people's turn to swear to their rule that they would always treat him fairly, break no laws, work hard and provide him with news of all that was transpiring in his kingdom. The priest guided them all gently through the oath and Dwalin wasn't the only one whose eyes were slightly misted over once the last Khuzdul words had left their mouth. He remembered when they had held the funeral for Thráin after Gandalf had reported to them that Thorin's father was truly dead. It had been a strange one, the singing in front of an empty grave without a body to bury. It had felt as wrong as this was feeling right.

Everyone around them rose from their kneeling positions until only Thorin remained. With a nod towards Balin and a softly muttered blessing in Khuzdul the priest stepped aside so that Balin could position himself in front of Thorin, crown held firmly in his hands. Dwalin, Dís and Bala were standing next to Balin whilst Fíli and Kíli stood at Thorin's side as his heirs.

It seemed like the entire crowd was holding their breaths as the crown descended upon Thorin's brow, but the moment it touched his hair a great sound like that of a hammer hitting an anvil rang through the air and more than one in the crowd murmured a quick prayer to Mahal. Their Maker had blessed the new King under the Mountain and Dwalin could see the relief in Thorin's face even as the weight of the new crown pressed down on his head.

There was no applause when Thorin finally rose to his feet, no roaring or cheers - those were reserved for the next morning when he would stand before them as their true king after the night vigil had proven him worthy. The first of them were already filing out of the cavern in an orderly fashion. Soon of them all would be gone to leave Thorin alone to ponder the new responsibility of his role and all that it meant for him. Some said that Mahal himself spoke to the future kings in such a night, but no king of Durin's line had ever lost a word of what happened during zannu itdên, the night of waiting.

As soon as the last people had left Thorin fell down to his knees again, readying himself for a night spent in contemplation. Dwalin was the last to leave his side, following Dís, the priest and the others out of the cavern. He would have touched Thorin then, trying to give him strength with a quick squeeze of his shoulder for the rest of the night that lay in front of him, but such gestures were forbidden after the ancient customs.

His axe had been positioned outside the cavern and so he took up his post without another word being said as the doors closed behind him. His hands rested on the handle of his weapon and he tried to send as much strength to Thorin as he could in his thoughts, knowing that this night would be by far the most difficult part of the ceremony for him. It was never good for Thorin to be alone with only his thoughts for any length of time and to do so by only the light of a single large candle and with nothing but his doubts and fears for company had to be harder than Dwalin could ever imagine. All he could do was to send his prayers to the Maker and hope Thorin would emerge unscathed the next morning.

Dwalin settled in a more comfortable position, one that came naturally to him after decades of standing guard for his prince and then king. There would be no sleep for him tonight, either; plenty of time for him to ponder the events of the last months himself.

He didn't remember much of the first weeks after the battle save Thorin's steady presence that had always been somewhere next to him even through the haze of fever and pain. His One had been a steady anchor throughout everything that had happened even though Thorin's own wounds took a long time to heal and send him almost screaming in pain more than once. Dwalin had lost count of how many times they had both woken up from nightmares sweating and with the taste of blood and ice still on their tongue

They had healed, however, as far as their bodies has been able to - neither of them would ever be the same, but they were alive and that was all that was important. They had a lot of time to talk as they were both healing - first in the tents outside on the battlefield, then in the stonen rooms inside the mountain. At home. It was more than strange, finally being back in a place they had last seen so long ago when they had both been young dwarves. And yet, it was almost as if the mountain was greeting them - a profound feeling that everything was right and as it should be enveloping them as soon as their opened their eyes to the walls of stone inside Erebor for the first time.

Thorin's healing especially seemed to speed up once he had been back inside their old home as if the mountain was welcoming its rightful king back into her arms. There had been (and still was) a lot for them to talk about throughout their healing. From the dragon sickness to the events of the quest and the battle and how their lives would go on now, it was more than enough to occupy the hours that they had to spend in bed, allowed to get up only briefly or not at all under Óin's orders. And even though they had more than enough visitors (with their Company being the most prevalent ones, of course, but also Dáin and a number of emissaries from different folk), there were still enough moments where it was only the two of them.

They had never fully resolved what had happened between them during the events of the gold sickness before the battle and to rebuild the trust that had been severed between them by Thorin's words and actions took its own time, just as the friendship between Thorin and Bilbo had taken a while to repair. Sometimes the hobbit still flinched when Thorin became angry although he never raised his hand again, neither against the hobbit nor anyone else. Only Dwalin knew how much it meant that Thorin apologised every single time afterwards. Thankfully he had managed to curb any new outbreaks of the dragon sickness in Thorin's mind, although sometimes the call of the gold to him was still palpable.

At least the Arkenstone was gone now and for that, Dwalin was grateful. As soon as he had been fully lucid for the first time, Thorin had asked Balin and Bilbo to take the accursed stone and hide it deep inside the mountain where no one would be able to find it anymore. Still, there was a restlessness in Thorin's mind even when all other issues seemed to have been solved - one that even Dwalin had been unable to place. He smiled a little as he remembered their conversation about it.

"What's bothering you?" Dwalin had finally dared to ask him after Thorin had been staring into empty space for far too long once more. He had been running his fingers through Thorin's hair and his One smiled at the gesture, shifting slightly so that his head came to rest on Dwalin's shoulder. His right shoulder was still bound and splinted firmly so he was unable to move or put any weight on it, but his left hand snaked up towards Dwalin's beard, starting to weave the soft strands around his fingers. "And don't say 'nothing'. I know you better than that."

Thorin smiled ruefully, evidently having been about to say exactly that.

"I feel...empty." he replied after a while. "I know it's strange, now that we're finally here. I've been wanting this for all my life. But now that I've achieved it...I don't know."

Thorin shook his head.

"I never truly expected to see it." he said quietly. "I never expected to..."

"...come out alive?" Dwalin finished his sentence for him, softly. Thorin closed his eye and pressed his forehead firmly against the bare skin of Dwalin's shoulder.

"Yes." he whispered.

Dwalin said nothing for a while, continuing to run his fingers through Thorin's hair and softly massaging his scalp.

"I knew." he finally replied so quietly that Thorin almost didn't hear it at first. "I knew it from the day we left Ered Luin. And after Azog almost killed you at the burning trees...I knew you never planned to survive this."

Thorin heard the hitch in his voice as he talked about Azog and instinctively inched closer to Dwalin.

"I'm sorry." He meant it, with all his heart. Not only the dragon sickness - they had talked about it more than once now, beginning to finally settle the issue. No, Dwalin knew that he meant those weeks and month before the journey where he had been distant and forlorn, his gaze only directed at the future and little attention spared for the present.

"I know that too." Dwalin smiled and shifted slightly so he could press a kiss into Thorin's hair. "But we've made it. And we're both alive, despite what you thought would happen. This kingship is yours, as it always has been. It will fill your days soon enough. And when it doesn't...I'll always be here, too."

His words prompted Thorin to heft himself up on his healthy arm, the gaze of his blue eye meeting the grey in Dwalin's.

"I do not deserve you." he said earnestly. "I never have and I never will. But I will stay by your side for as long as you want me to."

Dwalin reached up to tug at one of Thorin's braids that had fallen down over his shoulder, feeling how Thorin leaned into the movement until their lips met.

"Hikhthuzul." he whispered as they parted again. Always.

Thorin smiled and echoed the word, part of the ancient oath they had both bound themselves to so long ago. The Dwalin laughed and complained that age seemed to have turned them into sentimental old geezers and Thorin had grinned and agreed with him.

It had still taken him a while to lose every bit of that restlessness inside him and Dwalin still wasn't sure whether it was truly completely gone or ever would be. But just like the dragon sickness, it was something that they could find against, something they could contain and work on. And with him, Thorin had long ago learned to lower all his guards, let him see what the others could not and accept the help when he needed it - just as Dwalin had learned to let him through all those walls of strength he had built around himself.

Dwalin also remembered how they had discussed marriage. It had been a topic between them long ago, when Thorin had first handed him the ear clasps shortly after Fíli’s birth. Both of them had felt that it was neither the right time nor the right place for marriage and that they were content with that they had – neither of them was hiding their relationship, but they simply felt no desire to get married, even though they had spoken the oath that would normally be said in front of their maker in private, to the sound of thunder rumbling far away.

Sometimes Dwalin thought that his own mind would change once they regained the mountain. He had never asked Thorin about it and on the quest there were different thoughts in his mind. And once they were inside the mountain…things had gone differently than Dwalin had thought. Therefore, it had taken them both a while to turn their minds back to the issue. This time they had truly thought and talked about it, for several nights on end and come to the same conclusion as before.

Dwalin was content in his role as head of the guardsmen and Thorin’s personal bodyguard, as well as instructor for the trainees. He still had no desire to fulfil the extra roles that would come with being the king’s husband, diplomatic tasks that would be expected of him, not even so much from the dwarves, but from members of others races like men and elves. Thorin, in turn, had no desire to force any of those roles on him; in the eyes of their Maker they already were as One, as they were in the eyes of their folk who could read the patterns on their clasps and knew of their relationship. And those were the only things that truly mattered in the end.

Dwalin sighed quietly. He had no feeling for much time was passing so deep under the mountain. Morning could be there already, or it could still be deep within the night. He shifted slightly, taking weight off his stump that had began to ache. Óin had told him to be careful and had seen it as unwise that he should be the one standing guard outside the cavern for the rest of the night – but Dwalin had been adamant in his insistence, knowing that he would trust no one else with the task. Not on what was one of the most important nights in his One’s life. He listened for a moment, but everything remained quiet inside the cavern. Dwalin trusted Thorin, but he also knew that sometimes, Thorin’s own mind could work against him. He just hoped that he would emerge as a king tomorrow, not a broken dwarf.

He must have dozed a little, following the lazy trails of his thoughts through everything that had happened in the past hundred and eighty years, for the next thing he remembered was the sound of footsteps on the ground. It must already be midday then and Dwalin once more mused how he seemed to have lost every feeling for time.

The footsteps belonged to the priest who had returned to open the cavern and greet their old and new king. No signed or spoken words or physical gestures were allowed until Thorin would step into the great hall were the official coronation in front of everyone would take place. The priest nodded at him and Dwalin returned the gesture, feeling a faint tingle of nervousness down his spine as the door to the cavern was opened.

Dwalin was not allowed to go inside or indeed move until the old priest came out again and so he waited at his place, holding his breath and wondering what he would do if Thorin was not alright. However, his worry was completely unfounded - there was the sound of two pairs of bare feet walking over the stone and soon after, Thorin and the priest emerged. Dwalin almost sighed in relief when he saw Thorin - he looked tired, yes, but there was a strange light shining in his eye and he gave Dwalin a small smile when he walked past him. Something had happened in the cavern this night and it had changed Thorin. The dwarf who came out wasn't quite the same anymore who had walked in - he was the king now that he had always been meant to be.

Dwalin followed the two of them through the mountain's vast halls and tunnels. He had rarely seen Erebor so empty - everybody would by now have started to assemble in the Great Hall where they were ready to greet the king. Firstly, however, the priest led Thorin and Dwalin into a small side room next to the hall where the garments for the day had been put out for them - a ceremonial armour for Dwalin and layers upon layers of clothing for Thorin. Dwalin noted how there were few golden embellishments on Thorin's clothes and he sighed, knowing that Thorin had personally requested that it be so from the Dori and the other tailors.

They dressed in silence as it was tradition, although Dwalin couldn't help but throw admiring glances in his One's direction again and again. Dori and the others had truly outdone themselves this time - they had kept the clothing mostly in the deep Durin blue that Thorin preferred, but had embellished it skilfully in many places with stitching in silver and even mithril thread, shining brightly in the light of the lamps. The belt that held Orcrist was heavily ornamented, as were the caps of the boots Thorin put on. Dwalin helped him put the beads in his hair and even a few in Thorin's now growing beard, although in line with Thorin's request they kept it simpler than others might have preferred.

His breath caught when he stepped back and admired what he saw. Thorin looked like the dwarven kings of old, almost like Durin himself reborn, standing tall and regal. However, at the same time it was still his Thorin, too, as it was apparent when he turned around to him and gave him a quick smile. Dwalin inclined his head in a gesture that told his partner what he thought of him this moment. Then Thorin took a deep breath and stepped outside.

The priest had taken the crown with him on his way outside - normally it would have stayed on Thorin's head, but they were sure that those not of the mountain who had travelled here for this day would expect the king to be crowned, not to be wearing his crown already.

The murmurs from the crowd in the Great Hall were audible even from outside. However, as soon as the first ones saw Thorin coming, a hush fell over them that quickly spread throughout the room. It was filled to bursting with dwarrows, men and elves, although the guards had taken care to keep a small path free in the midst of them all for Thorin to walk through. The priest came first, making sure that the way was cleared, before Thorin stepped through the walkway leading into the Halls, Dwalin following on his heels. He saw the admiration and love in their people's eyes as they watched Thorin walking past.

Thorin slowly ascended the dais where those closest to him were waiting. Dís was there, with pride and happiness twinkling in her eyes, her two sons and her wife next to her. It must have taken them all morning to convince Kíli’s hair to stay in its elaborately braided form. Fíli looked like the king he would become the day his mother and uncle had died, his blond hair catching the rays of sunshine falling into the mountain through the clever system of mirrors and light shafts above. Balin stood there as well, with Bilbo next to him. It was contrary to any dwarven tradition that a hobbit might be allowed up there during such an important ceremony, but Thorin had been unwilling to yield on this point when planning it, pointing out that, without Bilbo Baggins, it would have never happened in the first place. It was only one of many gestures to him with which Thorin tried to make amends for what he had done. The rest of the Company and their families were up there, too, heralded as heroes amongst them now. Gandalf alone stood between Bard and Thranduil in the first row right in front of the dais. Dwalin took his place between Dís and Balin, unable to fight the smile creeping on his face when he met Thorin's gaze and ignoring the pain in his leg, now burdened with the heavy ceremonial armour.

The priest had agreed to carry out the second coronation, even though the priests of their Maker rarely spoke Westron. Nonetheless, his voice was loud and clear when it formed around the unaccustomed words and syllables. Thorin was kneeling in front of him as the priest lifted the crown up high over his head. There was no need to repeat the oath from the previous night and so the dwarf simply stated:

"By the grace of our Maker and all those assembled here, I now crown you, Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thráin and Sigvór, King Under the Mountain and of all Longbeards. May the days of your reign be numerous and blessed."

Thorin inclined his head and closed his eye for a moment as the crown settled upon his hair. Then he took another deep breath and stood up, turning around to the assembled crowd. Everybody bowed, including Dwalin which made a small smile appear on his partner's face before he turned. The people erupted into clapping and shouting as soon as he did, cheering on their rightful king. Dwalin could see that even Thranduil had lifted his hands for a few claps, although he looked as if he was smelling something rather unpleasant. Dwalin bit back a grin at his sight. Gandalf and Bard, in the mean time, looked a lot more enthusiastic and especially Bard's younger daughter, Tilda, seemed to be almost ecstatic, grinning widely and clapping with all the enthusiasm of her age.

Thorin raised his hand and the hall quieted down again.

"Thank you. For a long time I didn't think I would see this day. And so I want to thank everyone who has helped us to be here this day, no matter which folk they belong to. Let us all, together, rebuild the glory of this kingdom until it becomes a place that we will be proud for our allies to see and for our children's children to live in."

Thunderous applause answered his short speech and Thorin gave a short nod to everyone. Dwalin grinned widely, thinking he would burst with joy and pride any moment. After his speech came the honours. The Company was first, Thorin thanking each and every one of them personally and naming them heroes of both quest and battle, elevating those not of the Line of Durin to dwarven nobility. Each of the thirteen companions that had been with him, including Bilbo and his nephews, received a specially commissioned ring with their name runes carved into them that would mark them as one of the original Company. Bilbo was named dwarf-friend for the rest of his life and Thorin renewed his promise to him for a thirteenth share of the treasure if he was willing to take it. Much more important to Bilbo, however, seemed the promise that he was welcome in Erebor and any of the other Longbeard settlements whenever he wanted to visit or should he decide to spend the rest of his life here.

Next were the allies who had helped them hold the mountain against the hordes of orcs during the Battle of Five Armies. Dáin was the first of them all, grinning widely and with obvious pride in his face as Thorin praised him for his swift help in battle without which they would have likely been lost. He probably broke several ancient protocols at once when he enveloped Thorin in a bone-crushing hug as soon as he was called forward, one that Thorin returned after a moment, grinning widely as he did so.

The new King Under the Mountain also gave praise to Bard and, reluctantly, Thranduil for their help in the battle. Dwalin knew how much effort it had cost him, but despite the age-old animosity between their races, Thorin knew that a treaty would be much more beneficial to both of them on the long run. The puzzling out of the actual, probably incredibly long-winded clauses of the trade contract between would happen in future days. Dwalin could hear Balin moan about the hard-headedness of the elves already. Thorin kept the formalities as short as possible, but Dwalin could see more than one person in the audience shifting on their feet as the day drew on. There was an almost audible sigh of relief that went through the rows once he was done.

"Now let the celebrations begin." Thorin's announcement was met with loud cheering. Barely anyone would stay sober tonight, Dwalin mused. Thorin stepped down from the dais and Dwalin fell in step behind him. Everyone bent their heads in respect when Thorin was walking past, honouring their new king. Even Thranduil gave him a slight nod.

Dwalin followed Thorin as he returned to his quarters to get rid of the heavy ceremonial clothing. Behind them the masses were streaming to where the feast was being set up under Bombur's direction. Some dwarves were showing the delegations from the men and elves to their places of honour. It would take a while until everybody was settled and Thorin had decided that he would wear something less heavy and rich during the feast. Dwalin chuckled quietly when Thorin took off the first few layers with a relieved sigh once they were in their quarters, although he was equally glad to undo the clasps of his heavy ceremonial armour.

"Shall I help you getting rid of the rest?" he grinned. Thorin threw him a glance that was equal parts amusement and exasperation. Suddenly Dwalin felt like they were both a hundred years younger again.

"Not now." Thorin rebuked him, although Dwalin could hear an undertone of hunger beneath. "I don't want to turn up to open the feast both late and dishevelled."

"Of course, my king." Dwalin did a little mock bow to accompany his words. Thorin huffed and elbowed him lightly in the ribs, his hair brushing Dwalin's bare skin in the movement. Probably completely on purpose. Dwalin just chuckled in response.

The feast proved as grand an affair as promised. They made it just in time and Thorin's gaze told Dwalin that they would catch up with what they'd had to forego for the moment later during the day. For now they were content stuffing themselves with food and drink and joining in with the general cheer of the crowd. Thorin laughed loudly and freely and Dwalin had the impression that an invisible weight seemed to have been taken off him. He was different to the evening before when he had still been plagued by doubts and self-recrimination. Dwalin doubted that those things would be gone forever, just as the dragon sickness would never truly leave, but something had changed throughout the Night of Waiting. He was only too glad to see it. Despite the grey in his hair, Thorin seemed to be decades younger. He was even in good enough humour to have a short talk with Thranduil and the elvish delegation. And just like Dwalin, he pretended not to notice when Kíli snuck out of the feast with the red-haired elven warrior.

*

The feast ended very late into the night with some especially stout drinkers celebrating almost until the light of the next day. Dwalin and Thorin retired to their rooms relatively early, even though it was by no means early. Neither of them had caught any sleep the previous night and despite the raucous festivities they could feel the tiredness surging through their bodies. At one point a not-exactly-sober Dís remarked that, should Thorin yawn any more widely, Thranduil might think he was shouting at him across the tables - or that he was trying to eat his own crown. Thorin bumped her shoulder in response but couldn't deny her words.

"Have fun!" Dís shouted after them when they both set off towards their quarters, laughter rising up around her. Thorin's ears turned flaming red almost immediately and with a decidedly un-kingly expression he grabbed Dwalin's arm and pushed them both out of the hall. Dwalin was fairly sure that most people wouldn't remember anything of it the next morning, giving how intoxicated most of them were already at this stage. He and Thorin hadn't been drinking as much as the others, mostly because they were too tired to do so.

Thorin got rid of the crown on his head almost as soon as they set foot into their quarters, with a relieved sigh. Dwalin could see where the heavy metal had been pressing into his skin and wondered whether Thorin would get it altered although he suspected he wouldn't. The old credo of the Line of Durin that a crown should never be worn comfortably still held.

"Are you still willing to help me out of these clothes?" Thorin taunted gently when he noticed Dwalin's gaze towards him. Dwalin would have blushed had he been a hundred years younger or had his skin possessed the ability to turn as red as Thorin's ears sometimes did.

Instead of replying, Dwalin just grinned and stepped over to his One. He noticed only now how much he had missed the playful taunting that had once been between them. It had vanished almost completely in the months leading up to the quest and even after the journey and the battle they had both been a lot more serious than usual even if it was just the two of them.

Dwalin hummed softly when he began unlacing Thorin's shirt, knowing exactly where to linger with the touch of his fingertips and where to press more firmly. Thorin chuckled quietly in response and began to undo a few of Dwalin's braids with the nimble fingers of his left hand, still unable to lift his right arm above shoulder level as he was. His fingers brushed over the lobe of Dwalin's ear and the skin of his neck and Dwalin grinned quietly, not even trying to stop the heat rising up inside him.

"Why in the mountain does a king have to wear so many layers of clothing?" he complained once he had peeled the third layer of fabric off Thorin's clothes and was faced with yet another one.

"I could ask you the same." Thorin snorted as he tried to undo the lacing of Dwalin's undergarments. A smug smile flickered across his face when he finally succeeded, tugging softly at Dwalin's beard to make him lean over towards him for another kiss.

They almost lost their balance as Dwalin wasn't willing to give up on his work of undressing Thorin and tumbled backwards onto the bed. Thorin's quiet laughter into Dwalin's mouth was breathless as he wasn't breaking the kiss, deepening it instead with a hungry tongue as he pulled Dwalin down on top of him. Dwalin's fingers fumbled with the clasps of his artificial leg until it finally fell to the floor with a satisfying thump.

Thorin smiled and ran his fingers down on the inside of Dwalin's thigh towards the stump, slowly, so that Dwalin could stop him whenever it began to feel uncomfortable for him. Dwalin groaned in quiet satisfaction and shifted slightly on top of him, causing their groins to rub together. Thorin hissed and arched upwards, as much as his injured shoulder allowed, suddenly eager to get rid of his own undergarments too. Dwalin grinned as he helped him, intentionally letting his fingers slide across the points that he knew Thorin was most sensible at. His lover reached up with his left arm to pull him downwards again and Dwalin complied by kissing the swollen lips once more and trailing down the side of Thorin's throat, kissing and nipping at the skin with his teeth from time to time. The hairs of Thorin's growing beard, now long enough to carry a few small beads in them, were tickling on his skin and the sensation made Dwalin smile more than anything else.

Thorin changed his position slightly, turning over to take the weight off his injured shoulder and pulling Dwalin with him so that they were both soon lying on their sides. Dwalin still remembered the first weeks after the battle, when Thorin had kept complaining about how hard it had become for him to estimate distances with only one eye and how frustrated he had been when he had tried to grab something and found he misjudged its position, an effect that was only amplified by how little control he'd had over the left upper side of his body. It had been a learning process for both of them to accommodate to their bodies' new weaknesses and it still wasn't over.

Thorin's hand was travelling up and down Dwalin's bare back, lingering on the new scars on there and scratching ever so slightly in the places he knew Dwalin loved before coming towards the front, his calloused fingers beginning to stroke Dwalin's rapidly hardening length. Dwalin groaned slightly and shifted even closer until they were touching almost everywhere. He moved away from Thorin's throat towards his shoulder, pressing soft kisses on the numerous barely healed scars there. He knew he was the only one that Thorin would ever willingly let touch this part of his body, even welcoming the attention and gentleness that Dwalin gave it.

His own hands trailed downwards over Thorin's chest, parting the thick curls of hair on it that had slowly begun to turn silver and tracing the outlines of scars and tattoos underneath. Wrapping his fingers tightly around Thorin's cock he caught his mouth in a kiss again, stifling the moans that forced their ways through both of their mouths.

"Dwalin." Thorin groaned and caught him in another tight embrace as his body began to shudder and he spilled hotly over Dwalin's stomach. He seemed unable to say more than just the one word, repeating it over and over again, a prayer from deep inside him breaking through and echoing in the chambers until if found the ears of their Maker. The sound and the feeling of Thorin's fingers working him in a quick rhythm were enough to make Dwalin come, too and for a moment they just lay in a shivering heap, unwilling to part from each other yet.

Dwalin looked up at the ceiling of their chambers and then down at Thorin again, caressing his body with both the gaze of his eyes and touch of his fingers. He had rarely felt happier than during this moment. They'd had been intimate since the end of the battle, yes, but somehow it had felt like something was always lacking, like neither of them had fully be able to give in to what they wanted. Fear of causing the other pain from their severe injuries had been holding them back at first, but even afterwards there was always something between them that they hadn't quite been able to name.

Thorin grinned as he noticed Dwalin's gaze on him, reaching out to wrap a few strands of Dwalin's hair around his finger.

"So...how does it feel to fuck a king?" he teased.

Dwalin cocked his eyebrows, not having expected such a direct question.

"Very majestic."

"Majestic?" Thorin laughed out loud and suddenly Dwalin felt tempted to press his hand against Thorin's chest to feel the muscles moving underneath his skin.

"Well, technically I haven't really fucked you yet..." Dwalin continued and a suggestive glint entered Thorin's eye as he pulled him closer again and kissed him.

"So demanding..." he murmured, his fingers trailing down Dwalin's back until they slipped between his cheeks. Dwalin made a point of biting Thorin's ear lobe and breathing heavily into his ear, knowing that his lover could barely resist such a gesture. Thorin reached out with his healthy arm and fumbled around on the nightstand until he had found the vial of oil they were keeping there.

"So, shall we go for a second round?"


	3. The Years Are Passing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY MORE BANTER between our two favourite dwarves. Also some more insight in what the rest of the Company is doing and those outside, e.g. the Bardlings.

Thorin was still surprised every time he ventured out of the mountain and into Dale. In the more than thirty years since the fall of the dragon and the Battle of Five Armies there had been a remarkable amount of change both here and in Laketown; what had once been nothing more than old ruins was now a lively city once more, almost like Thorin remembered it from the old days before Smaug had come.

The dwarves of Erebor had helped greatly with the rebuilding of Dale and Laketown in return for food and wares to get them especially through the first rough winter. Now the markets were brimming with people of more than one folk, the wares of Erebor once again highly in demand. As in the days of old the dwarves allowed only few people to enter the mountain and almost none without explicit invitation, although visits were still much more frequent than they had been throughout the last days of Thrór's reign.

Thorin knew that all members of the Company had returned quite often to Dale to visit those they had struck up friendships with during the quest, mainly King Bard and his family. They had watched Bain, Sigrid and Tilda grow up. Bain had children of his own now, a son who had just turned twenty and three daughters of younger age. Sigrid and her wife were nursing two twin daughters of their own. The birth of each of Bard's grandchildren had been celebrated by all of them and they had been richly showered with gifts from the mountain and even a few from Mirkwood . Tilda alone had decided that she did not want to found a family and had taken to wander the forests and plains around Dale and Laketown instead, becoming a revered healer in the end who had been given knowledge by both the elves and the dwarves that she had first met during those days when the Company had stayed in Laketown.

Today they had been assembling for an event of a different sort, however. Bard the Bowman, king of Dale, had died three days ago and was now to be laid to rest in a tomb in one of the foothills of Erebor not far outside of Dale as it was worthy of a king who had reigned more than thirty years and done so much for his people.

Thorin, who still preferred the much simpler clothing in those times when he wasn't forced to attend to matters of state in his official function, was wearing full regal clothing, his now completely silver hair richly decked in clasps and beads although he had left one strand hanging free as a sign of respect and mourning for someone not of the dwarven folk, but yet dear to them. The others of the Company had followed his example as had others who had known the king better.

The funeral ceremony had been a long and yet honest one that honoured the dead king as he deserved and Thorin couldn't help but think that although very different from dwarven rituals, these funeral rites of men had their own beauty. He and Dwalin had offered to stay in Dale this night and attend the funeral feast as a sign of respect for Bard., an offer that had been gladly accepted by Bain and his sisters.

Now, after the end of the dinner, they were sitting together in a stonen alcove that had been built into the rock of the hill behind the large mansion where they had been given rooms in. A cool wind was running across their faces and ruffling their hair but neither of them minded much. Despite their love for the mountain and the homeliness and safety of their rooms within it, being outside reminded them of the days in Ered Luin, evenings spent sitting together at the fresh air, far away from the trouble and worries of their lives.

Thorin was humming quietly and leaning back against the stone. Dwalin did the same and for a while they were just enjoying each other's vicinity and the silence around them.

"I keep forgetting how short human lives are." Thorin said suddenly. His voice was quiet and he was gazing in the direction that the tomb lay in in which Bard had found his eternal rest.

“Mhm.” Dwalin replied. He had wondered earlier, especially when he had met Tilda again. Despite his initial grumpiness during their first encounter he had taken quite a liking to the youngest of Bard’s children and tried to visit her as often as he could whenever she was in Dale. She was a middle-aged woman now in the same space of time in which young dwarves went from scruff on their cheeks to a barely braidable beard. It was strange to be reminded of the human lives in such a way.

“Sometimes I wonder whether the elves feel the same about us as we feel about the folk of men.” Thorin mused. Dwalin raised an eyebrow. It was a rare thing for his One to speak of elves in such a philosophical manner.

“Probably.” Dwalin yawned quietly. “I still find it a miracle how Kíli and his elven lady seem so unfazed by it.”

Thorin shrugged. At least the fact that Kíli and Tauriel had begun a relationship together didn’t bother him anymore, or at least he was willing to hide it for the sake of his family and the relationship between the two peoples.

“I’m sure they’ve considered it at some point but worked something out. You know how Kíli is someone who won’t be bothered by such little things as differing lifespans.”

Dwalin just chuckled quietly and had to agree with Thorin. Just like his older brother and the rest of his family, Kíli would to whatever he wanted to.

“Since when are you so contemplative?” Dwalin softly bumped Thorin’s healthy shoulder. Thorin looked over to him and grinned.

“Oy, am I not allowed to contemplate deeper things now? I’m a king, I need to be thinking about all kinds of things, you know.”

Dwalin snorted and after a moment Thorin laughed and then changed the topic.

"Remember how we used to run away from the mountain when we were little?" he asked.

“Of course I do.” Dwalin grinned. “You’d natter on all the way down to Dale about how your father and your teachers would be angry with you and how a prince just can’t flee his duties like that. Never bothered you in the end though; you always came with me.”

“You were very persuasive.” Thorin laughed. “If there was a price for describing the sweets we would be able to get in the most delicious way, you would have won it repeatedly.”

“Well, you have to admit, they were very good, no?”

“Of course they were. I wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

Suddenly a teasing glint entered Dwalin’s eyes and he grinned.

“And the fact that you could enjoy my company and just mine had nothing to do with it?”

Thorin punched him slightly in the ribs and then threw his head back, smiling widely.

“Definitely not. Maybe. A little?”

Dwalin punched him back and for a brief moment there was a light scuffle between them although it wasn’t by far as wild as it would have been in their youths or a hundred years ago. Both of them were wheezing by the end of it and Thorin laughed as he was massaging his shoulder with a slight grimace.

"We're getting too old for this." he chuckled.

His fingers came up to his chin to feel the beads in his now fully grown and almost completely silver beard. Despite his dislike for elaborate plaiting in the morning he still kept the hair neatly tucked away in several braids. He had grown accustomed to the freedom of not having too much hair on his chin during the long years with a shortly cropped beard and was loathe to give up on it completely. Dwalin kept teasing him endlessly about it, but in the end he would always lend a helping hand with the beads that sat in the strands of Thorin's beard.

"You weren't complaining when I took you against the wall in our bedroom the other night." Dwalin pointed out with a lewd grin that almost led Thorin to start another scuffle right on the spot.

"If you recall correctly I was in fact telling you that we're soon going to be too old for that, too." Thorin shot back. "You just chose not to hear it."

"I was busy with other things." Dwalin's grin grew and Thorin had to bite back another laugh. In all fairness, Dwalin was probably right. He turned slightly to face his partner and for a while, there was nothing but silence between them as they enjoyed the view of each other and the silence of the night around them.

"I wonder when I should hand over the kingship to Fíli." Thorin said finally. His voice was quiet, betraying nothing of the anxiety inside him. It was the first time he was voicing such thoughts openly in front of Dwalin.

Dwalin frowned slightly, but his posture remained as relaxed as ever when he met Thorin's gaze.

"How long have you been thinking about this?" he demanded to know, although the tone of his voice was soft.

"Since before the day I was crowned." Thorin admitted quietly. He saw Dwalin opening his mouth in a quick reply, but cut off his words by raising his hand. "No, hear me out. The reason I didn't back then was because I knew it would have been pure selfishness. Fíli wasn't ready yet. And my reasons have changed over the years; once he is fit to be king I will hand my kingship over to him. I have no desire to keep thinking about trade agreements and diplomatic relations with the bloody elves for the rest of my life. And I won't be living forever - it will be much easier for Fíli if he can rely on my being able to help in emergency situations for the first years of his rein."

Dwalin said nothing for a while after Thorin had stopped talking. Thorin could see how he was mulling over his partner's words - the said as well the unsaid.

"And here I was, thinking I'd have to collect your dried-up old body from the throne one day because you had a heart attack from arguing with Thranduil." Dwalin replied finally and Thorin laughed.

"That was my fear, too." he confessed. "I'd much rather go out doing something nice."

"Yeah, well, Thranduil's mug certainly wouldn't be my idea of a nice last sight either." Dwalin grinned but Thorin could sense how hard it still was for him to talk about their deaths. That they had both almost died during the Battle of Five Armies hadn't only left visible traces on their bodies.

"Well, there's quite a number of years still left, I hope." Thorin deliberately switched to a light tone and stretched a little, thus taking the tension out of the air. "Fíli only just told me recently that he'd rather not be king anytime soon, although he's overexceeding at his duties as a crown prince when he isn't busy courting every hair off Ori's head."

Dwalin grinned.

"That might take a while then." he replied. After a moment of hesitation, he added: "But I'm glad that you've decided to take some more time for yourself once the time is right."

Thorin resisted the temptation to add 'not only for me. For us.' to Dwalin's words - Dwalin had heard them anyway and neither of them was the kind to usually say such things out loud. Besides, even if he wasn't king anymore, he would still have a rather large amount of duties to fulfil, of that there was no doubt. For now, however, those thoughts could wait. With a little sigh he stretched out on the stone under his back, turning slightly to take the pressure off his shoulder. Dwalin sank down next to him and Thorin smiled.

***

Balin died almost thirty years later. He was the second of their Company to return to the stone; Óin had passed away not three years before, but not without leaving the wealth of his medical knowledge behind in the form of several bound and beautifully illustrated books that Ori had made and several now rather skilled dwarven healers amongst them. It was strange for the Company not to be complete anymore; even though each of them had their own lives within the mountain by now they would always meet up for dinner with their families in tow in at least a weekly rhythm, sometimes more often. Óin's absence was felt sharply and it was like a hole had appeared in their midst, reminding them all of their own mortality.

Their evenings became more quiet from then on, even though things were going well in the mountain. The kingdom was prospering and Dale with it, bringing them all riches, new friendships and peace of mind. Thorin had a strong court around him just like he'd had in Ered Luin and with their help Erebor built many relations with both men and elves, near and far from the mountain to the benefit of all. Most of the Company had taken up their old professions again and they all did something relating to their craft - Dori as head of the weavers and personally responsible for not only the king's wardrobe, but that of many others too together with his now many assistants; Nori roaming both the mountain and Dale, collecting information wherever he could; Glóin as head of the treasury; Bombur as one of the chief cooks in the mountain, Bofur overseeing many of the mining operations and Bifur continuing his craft of whittling and woodwork; Balin as the king's advisor had taken on Ori as his personal assistant and had groomed him to be his successor; Dwalin had remained head of the guard whilst the two princes learned the duty of reigning from their uncle and mother. New dwarflings had been born to the Company as well - Ori and Fíli were now proud fathers of a beautiful little dwarrowdam and the number of Bombur's children had by now reached thirteen. Their smiles and laughter brought happiness into all their hearts.

When Balin died, it was not unexpected - his health had been declining rapidly for a few months and by the end for the last few days he was barely able to leave his bed anymore. It had grieved Dwalin to see his brother like this, especially since Balin, despite his love for studying and scripture, had always been someone who had enjoyed physical work and activities as well, never one to turn down a sparring match. He'd led a good life and had a peaceful end, but the gap Balin's death left inside Dwalin's and all of their hearts was unbridgeable. It was not long after his mentor's and friend's death that Thorin finally decided to do what he had been thinking about for so long.

He thought the Company and his family had a right to hear it before anyone else and so he told them first over one of their dinners. Dwalin was sitting next to him, the only one aware of his plan and thoughts. Thorin could feel the silent support radiating from him, even without touch. He had thought for a while how he was going to break the news to them and had finally decided that honest and direct words would be the best way to go, as always. Before their dinner commenced he stood up, waiting for the conversations to quiet down and all eyes to be trained on him.

"I have an announcement to make." he began, his voice loud and firm. "When the next Durin's Day comes, I will put the kingship over the mountain into Fíli's hands."

There were a few moments of stunned silence after his words until everybody began to talk at the same time. Fíli and Kíli were the most incredulous, although not the loudest of them all and there was something on Fíli's face that told Thorin that his heir had almost expected it. Dís was the only one who didn't join in with the shouting at all - instead she just smiled slightly, first at Bala with a wink that almost seemed to say 'I told you so' and then at her brother, putting a hand on his arm.

"I was waiting for this moment, brother." she told him and Thorin arched an eyebrow at her.

"You were?"

"When will you finally learn that I know you almost as well as I know myself by now?" Dís grinned back and squeezed his arm. Dwalin hid his smile in a keg of ale. _He_ had certainly expected Dís' reaction.

"I'm glad you decided to finally go through with your decision." she added, glancing over at her older son. "I think Fíli is more than ready to become king. You have done a good job at preparing him for it."

"I can hardly take all the praise for that myself." Thorin answered with a smile. "You and Balin have done at least as much, if not more. Balin would be proud if he could see him like this."

"Yes he would." Old memories made Dís' eyes shimmer as she thought of their old friend, now returned to stone and finally having found his resting place under the mountain.

Fíli leaned over in Thorin's direction as well now, pride and worry warring in his face.

"You should have told me before, uncle." he said quietly. "That was rather sudden. You aren't ill or anything, are you?"

"Once you are king, you will be confronted with quite the number of sudden events and decisions." Thorin smiled warmly back at him. "And no, don't worry, I am still quite healthy. Just slightly weary of ruling, is all."

"I can attest to his good health." Dwalin grumbled from his corner, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Kíli groaned loudly whilst Dís unsuccessfully tried to hide her laughter behind a piece of bread. Fíli and Thorin just sent Dwalin a glare that seemed to leave the old warrior entirely unfazed. Thorin felt the tips of his ears heat up and Dwalin's grin told him they were going red again.

"Take care, or you might not have a chance to test it again this night." he snorted back at Dwalin. Kíli looked like he was about to press his hands over his ears and grimaced at Fíli who was just shaking his head. Dís was roaring with laughter, Bala next to her chuckling as well, joining in with the amusement of everyone around them. Thorin turned back to Fíli, his tone a lot more serious as he continued, drawing his nephew close so that he would hear his next words.

"I, as well as your mothers, believe that you are ready, Fíli. You have done more than well by your people and with the tasks you were given over the past decades and none of us has any doubt that you will make a great king - probably a better one than I ever was."

"Shut up, uncle. I'll never be as good a king as you." A smile flickered over Fíli's face at Thorin's last words, although his voice was suspiciously rough. Thorin could still feel the insecurity bubbling up inside his nephew, even though he had meant every single word he had just said.

"You two are horrible." Dís suddenly threw in, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Typical members of the Line of Durin, you just never believe you are good enough."

"I thought we'd raised you differently." Bala added, although there was laughter in her voice.

Fíli and Thorin both rolled their eyes in reply, but said nothing more on the matter. Tonight was an evening for celebrating and enjoying each other's company, not a place to discuss any more political matters. Nonetheless, Thorin took his time to listen to all the comments he received about his decision - most of them were positive, leaving him with the good feeling of having done the right thing. Many of the other dwarrows seemed to understand why he did and more than once someone sent a knowing glance towards Dwalin, Nori in particular making more than one lewd comment that had Dwalin roaring with laughter.

The next Durin's Day seemed to approach quickly and amidst all the preparations that had to be done, the members of the royal family barely seemed to have time to breathe. Fíli became more and more nervous the closer Durin's Day was coming and even his daughter or his husband couldn't quite distract him anymore when the day was close. Thorin hoped that the long ceremony of the coronation and the Night of Waiting would help Fíli find his inner balance as much as it had helped him so many decades ago. Ori would be the one standing watch in front of the door just as Dwalin had done back then. Their little daughter Saldís would spend the night with her grandmothers and uncles after the ceremony in the cavern below, getting ready for the next day's official coronation in front of the people both of the mountain and of Laketown, Mirkwood and beyond.

It was a grand ceremony, reflecting the slowly growing wealth of the mountain and the prosperity of its populace. Fíli looked splendid in his coronation garb and Thorin felt his chest swelling with pride when he looked down at his nephew and heir as he handed him the crown, from one king to another. Kíli was beaming at his brother, as were his mothers and the other dwarrows up on the dais and in the audience. There had been a long argument between whether Tauriel would be allowed on the platform next to her partner - in the end they arrived at the compromise that she stood at the side next to Kíli, although on a lower step than everybody else, which comically brought her to about the same height as the dwarves.

This time it was Thorin's duty to crown the next king and thus prove that the power would pass from him to Fíli. He did so with a wide smile, hoping that Fíli would take heart from the trust he placed in him. It was the priest who spoke the words again, being the first to officially address Fíli with his new title.

"Fíli, son of Dís and Bala, King Under the Mountain."

Fíli looked him in the eye for a moment before he stood up and turned around, to the roaring applause of everyone in the room. Thorin stepped back, returning to his place at Dwalin's side whilst Fíli addressed those assembled in front of him.

"How does it feel to finally be free?" Dwalin murmured quietly.

"Rather strange." Thorin replied truthfully. The reality of it hadn't sunk in yet, not completely - it wasn't a switch he could just make from king to not being king. Besides, he knew the transformation would happen gradually as it had for the previous months, most of his duties slowly being delegated away from him and transferred to Fíli. At the same time, there _was_ a strange lightness within him, that much was undeniable, as if a weight had fallen off his back. His kingdom was prospering and now in better hands than ever - he deserved the rest he was hopefully going to get in his last years.

His shoulder brushed Dwalin's and he felt more than he could see the smile from his partner. Thorin wasn't the only one looking forward to what the next years might hold in store for them.


	4. Battle of Dale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the Battle of Dale. You know me and you know how this is going to end - if you are adverse to character death you might want to skip this last one. But I DO think this is the most fitting end for both of them.

Thorin looked at Dwalin, saw the deliberate movements with which he put on the armour, the way he was moving still remarkably smooth for someone his age, although there was a slight stiffness already apparent. Every single one of his motions was measured, done so often before that he barely had to think about it and although many decades old, each piece of armour still fit perfectly. Dwalin felt his gaze on him and turned his head to smile at Thorin, eyes glowing softly with warmth. After so many years together Thorin understood his One wordlessly, so he stepped over and helped him with the straps and buckles of the armour where Dwalin was unable to reach.

They assisted each other with putting on the last bits of armour like they had done for centuries. The familiar task helped to quiet them down, to stifle the nervousness that was still there before the upcoming battle. Thorin slapped his hand on Dwalin's shoulder to indicate that he was done and Dwalin turned around, doing for Thorin what he had done for him, his fingers drawing softly across Thorin’s neck after fitting the last piece of armour on his body. The pieces they were wearing weren't too heavy so that they would have enough freedom to move and still be protected from minor hits. There was little time until the beginning of battle; already the shouts of the lieutenants bringing their soldiers to order outside could be heard and they would have to leave soon, to lead their troops into war.

They had all known that this war would come to them eventually, after all the talk of trouble brewing in the east and the dark messenger coming to stand in front of their gates. Thorin hoped that Bilbo was still as fine as his last letter had indicated and he wished he could have seen the now old hobbit one last time before they went out to fight. Not a single one of the dwarves had protested his decision not to give up the hobbit's name to the servants of evil; Bilbo was a dwarf in all but name to them and they protected their own. Therefore, when reports had come of Easterlings amassing in the hills around them and calling for battle, none of them had been truly surprised.

Fíli and Kíli had begged them to stay inside the mountain during battle, but neither of them would have any of it and Thorin's nephews ultimately knew that they wouldn't be able to hold them back. They were more insistent with Dís, but like her brother she wouldn't give in. There was no way she would let her family go into battle without her again. She, too, would come, leaving Bala to reign over the affairs on the inside of the mountain in her absence and take care of their granddaughter who was yet far too young to fight.

Thorin and Dwalin both knew, without speaking, that this battle would be their last, one way or the other. They were old now and despite the constant jokes they kept making about it they could feel it in their bones that there weren't that many years left in either of their lives. Thorin's hair and beard had long gone silver and Dwalin's was now as white as his brother had used to be. Age had left its traces, mapped itself on their skin in wrinkles and fading tattoos and scars. The pain of old wounds had been flaring up more often in recent years, especially when the cold of winter was upon the mountain; and some mornings Thorin found himself unable to move without a dull ache emanating from his once crushed shoulder through his body, choosing instead to just crawl closer to Dwalin whose leg was giving him similar problems.

They also knew that, should one of them fall this day, the other would follow, for there was little in this world that could keep them apart.

They had lived together.

They should die together.

Thorin gently pulled Dwalin's head towards his own until their foreheads were touching. There were no words needed between them - there never had been, really. They knew what the other wanted to say without having to hear it. Dwalin softly rubbed his nose on Thorin's before leaning in for a kiss that Thorin was only too glad to give. Their hands found each other's skin, got tangled in their hair and beards, trailed softly over the exposed bits on their necks and face. Dwalin gently rubbed the network of scars on the right half of Thorin's face and Thorin smiled, savouring his touch and committing it to memory as best as he could. The bond between them was as deep and steady as always, its light not dimmed a single bit when they finally moved away from each other and gripped their weapons to make their way outside to where the soldiers were already waiting for them.

Thorin found that he was filled with a strange calm when they stepped out of his quarters, knowing deep inside him that they wouldn't return. The others were awaiting them in the Hall of Kings, ready for one last assault out of the mountain. For a moment Thorin felt himself thrown back in time, to a different battle and a different final charge that they had all thought would be their last. Now, however, he had an army behind him and his sister at his side and a peace inside him more important than all the gold in the mountain.

Dís gave him a smile when he approached and pulled both Dwalin and then him into a rough embrace, pressing their foreheads together in a gesture that expressed more than words ever could. Thorin wondered briefly what it would have been like had Frerin been here with them, what strange jests he would have made to lighten up the mood and how his laughter would have pearled throughout the halls.

Fíli and Kíli were there too, the king and his brother standing side by side. Thorin knew that Bala and their children would have long said goodbye to their parents already and he was glad that they have all shared their morning meal together and he was able to bid those he has loved farewell in his own way. Tauriel was there and Ori, too, right at their husbands' sides. Little remained of the shy young dwarf who had gone on the quest with them so many decades ago. Even though he still preferred his books and writing to the art of fighting, he was more than decent with his war hammer and Thorin knew that his own nephews were in good hands with Ori and the elven warrior. They would not lack protection.

Most of their former company were there, clad in their old armour and the fighting spirit once more dancing in their eyes as they looked upon the dwarf who had once been their king and who they had followed through half of middle-earth into the maws of a dragon. It felt good to have most of them at his side again and he hoped that many of them would survive this day. Balin would have been proud to see them all like this and Dwalin's slight shifting at his side told Thorin that he was thinking about his brother as well, just as the slightly moist glimmer in Glóin's eyes reminded him that Óin couldn't be here this day either. Thorin's grip around Orcrist tightened and he vowed to himself that they would do them proud.

Horns were sounding from the battlements now and Thorin and Dwalin took their place besides Fíli, Ori and Kíli, Dís to their other side and the Company right behind them. The gates to the mountain were opened and a scream rose from their throats as one, ancient Khuzdul war cries meant to plant fear in their enemies' hearts.

The army of Easterlings outside had been waiting for them, an endless seeming sea of bodies that had already overrun Dale. King Brand would follow shortly behind them with his army, dwarves and men mingling in one last stand that Thorin and Dwalin were more than proud to be a part of. They charged head first into the ranks of their enemies waiting for them outside and for a time, the world narrowed to a single point, strangely clear and in focus in Thorin's remaining eye.

His and Dwalin's weapons were working in unison, singing the song of war and blood. They moved as one, their motions fluid and precisely timed to cover each other's weakest sides. For a time it seemed like their army might even win - but there was simply no end to their enemies, more and more pushing towards them like the tide of the sea. Thorin ignored the growing ache in his shoulder and forged on, trying to stay steadily beside his sister and his nephews. They had to win. They could not let darkness descend over the mountain. Not again.

It happened in the space of a single thought - one moment Dwalin was beside him, the next he was ripped away, a shout on his lips even as he buried his axes in the Easterling's body whose sword had just ripped open his side. Thorin felt more than heard the wet sound the enemy's weapon made as it came loose, Dwalin falling to the ground only a moment later.

"Dwalin!" Thorin screamed his name, knowing instantly that something was wrong, that something had happened which would shake his world to the ground, that he had to get to his One's side now-

Fíli, Kíli, Tauriel and Ori immediately closed in around him with a score of their best warriors, forming a living shield between Thorin, Dwalin and their foes who had taken heart from seeing one of the dwarves closest to the king fall.

Not caring that his hands were smeared with blood Thorin fell to his knees and drew Dwalin up into his lap, knowing after a single look that every help would come too late for him. The wound was too deep, having cleaved almost clean through the chainmail more than a handspan into Dwalin's side. It had been far too fast and gruesome for Dwalin to feel any pain and for that Thorin was grateful, even as his own trembling fingers traced the lines of his One's face, leaving smudges of blood on the already much-too-pale skin.

"I'll see you soon." Dwalin whispered weakly and Thorin smiled, catching hold of Dwalin's fingers and gently guiding them to his own cheek where Dwalin had wanted to put them.

"Yes." he pressed out and watched as the light faded from his One's eyes, casting a final veil over the once so brilliant grey even as his lips twitched with one last smile.

Thorin cradled him for a moment longer even as the battle was raging on around them, feeling a slow emptiness hollow out his insides until all that was left seemed to be barely more than a simple shell, ready to crack at any given moment. He pressed a gentle kiss to his One's forehead before lowering him to the ground with unending care and tenderness, like he had done when bringing Fíli and Kíli to bed as young dwarflings.

Closing his eye and taking a deep breath he then turned around, a roar rising from his throat so mighty that the Easterlings closest to him took a few steps back. The others knew what happened and he didn't need to look at his nephews to see the stonen masks their faces had become or the deep sadness that was now blooming inside Dís' eyes. She took up her brother's cry in one last desperate stand, fighting side by side not only with her own kin but with the men of Dale, the strokes of King Brand steady beside her.

Thorin's own steps led him to charge where the fray was thickest, protecting his nephews as well as he could, but no longer paying much thought as to his own safety. He knew with strange clarity that death would find him today and could only pray that his end would be another quick one and no lingering in pain. When the grey spectre finally came to take him up in its embrace it plucked him from his life with a gentle grasp, severing those few strings that still bound him to this earth with a snap of its fingers, careful and quick.

Thorin had seen the arrow that was pointed at Fíli, knew that his nephew would be unable to react to his warning in time. A step was all that it took, a single step to his right and it decided his fate. The arrow hit his chest with a wet thud, quickly followed by a second one. When the third one stroke home Thorin lost his grip on Orcrist. His nephews were shouting somewhere but it was all strangely distant; he also knew that there should be pain running through his body right now, screaming agony filling his senses but there was nothing, as if his soul were already gone.

He was so tired.

With a sigh he sank to his knees just as the fourth and fifth arrow hit him, the Easterlings having noticed now who they had shot and determined to bring him down. Thorin knew they had been successful, knew something vital had been hit as he could feel the blood bubble through his lungs and his heart pumping much too fast against the pressure of steel that had ripped too many holes inside his body. There was no breath left for him to draw and he fell to the ground with a choked sound, dimly aware that his nephews and all his friends were still fighting around him, protecting a dying dwarf who had once been their king until the last.

His gaze was searching for Dwalin but he couldn't see his body, the tide of battle having borne them too far away from where his One had fallen. He gasped for air that he could not breathe through the blood in his mouth and his fingers twitched in a fruitless attempt to pluck the arrows from his body. Darkness came rushing in and started to dim his sight, but just before the last of the lights winked out, he finally saw him.

Dwalin was standing in front of him, not caring about the battle raging on around them. He was younger now, his hair more brown than grey again, eyes sparkling and brimming with warmth and the skin around them creasing as he smiled. One of his hands, the ink of its tattoos still strong and unfaded with time, was stretched out in Thorin's direction.

"Come on, âzyungâl, I've been waiting." he said. "Let's go."

Thorin smiled.

"I'm coming."

He took Dwalin's hand and as the world around them began to fade he knew that everything was as it was supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: this AU is actually based on a version of the BotFA that we made up in which Dwalin is injured and only wakes up days after the end of the battle only to find that Thorin and his nephews are dead and Thorin has broken that promise to him (what Balin doesn’t tell him, however, is that Thorin has died asking to see him one last time but he couldn’t, because their wounds were too severe to move either of them). Aren’t you glad I just shared that with you? :P


End file.
